


After Sunset Fadeth in the West

by Poetiicdissonance



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas Presents, Daniel and a handful of nameless OC's make cameo appearances, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Pre-Canon, Shawn is the DB double... err one of, Strexcorp, Strexcorp Takeover, Team as Family, Technically I Suppose, Vanessa centric, implied Kevin/Ted the Weatherman, the ghost of Shakespeare also features
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetiicdissonance/pseuds/Poetiicdissonance
Summary: There is a town in a desert. And in this town, there is a radio station, and an intern, unfortunately, this will not be enough to save them.
Relationships: Kevin & Intern Vanessa
Kudos: 3





	After Sunset Fadeth in the West

**Author's Note:**

> This was made as a secret Santa gift for a Vanessa on one of my discord servers, and what is more in theme for the holidays than actual Christmas and then the angst of the Strex takeover? (So many things? Yeah, you might be right).
> 
> But there is some fluff! I swear!
> 
> The title is taken from sonnet 73 from Shakespeare, and the line about being the prey of worms is from 74-- they're two interconnected ones. The weather is Apocalyptic Dreams by The Adjective, and that's linked at the end of the fic, when it says 'weather', clicking on that should send you to the song itself. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Vanessa is half-asleep on her desk, eyeing the corner where the ghost of Shakespeare is ranting by the clock. Her teacher can’t see him, and he’s continued blithely on, talking about the metaphors and symbolism in the sonnet, maligning the words. At least… she’s pretty certain that’s what the ghostly figure is saying. She isn’t actually certain. Behind her, she can hear some of her classmates whispering back and forth to each other, and pointing at the ghost. 

Shakespeare’s sleeves are covered in ink stains, and Vanessa finds her eyes cataloguing the places where the fabric moves, and the colours of the brocade fabric. The school has one Elizabethan costume but it’s… accurate isn’t the word she’d use. The neon purple sequins are pretty, but they’re not exactly subtle, and it meant that their performance of Much Ado About Nothing had ended with them trying to explain why Don Pedro had been dressed in purple sequins through the whole performance. 

The English teacher had been… less accepting of their ‘alternative’ take of the villain. The audience had enjoyed it though, and the actual teacher that had been in charge of supervising them had actively encouraged it. Granted, she’d been a math teacher and had spent most of her time grading assignments and letting them do whatever they wanted short of actual murder.

“Vanessa!” Her teacher calls, and she blinks, looking away from the ghost, who’s also paused to look at the teacher. 

“Yeah?”

“Considering what you know of the text, and of Shakespeare’s life, what do you think has led to the despondent tone present?”

The ghost looks at her curiously, and not for the first time, Vanessa wonders what would become of her when she died, and her body had become nothing more than ‘the prey of worms’. Would she too, find herself haunting somewhere?

“Considering the specific nature of the poem, and the time it must have been written? He probably lost someone dear to him, a friend maybe?” Her teacher looks appeased by the answer, and Shakespeare… Vanessa would rather not question the sad way he looks lost in memories.

-

It’s Christmas, and Vanessa has only been at the station for a handful of months, but she’s come to expect a certain level of strange. Some days, that means Ted frantically beating a broom at the escaped weather balloons in the corner of the office trying to get them down so he can actually do his job. Other times it's pre-broadcast jitters; part of her had expected that they would have figured out a surefire way to stop them, but even professional radio apparently had to deal with them. As the newest intern, it’s her job to keep them from interrupting the broadcast at… inopportune moments if they failed to get them all before.

Today is no different. Each desk is covered in a present of varying sizes. No one else looks confused, or even concerned by the gifts, and in fact, most of them looked rather excited. 

The ones at the Shawn/Sean/Shaun’s desks (all of the men in finance are Shawn/Sean/Shaun, but Vanessa isn’t entirely certain how it’s spelt, or even if they’re all spelt the same), all have very uniform, and reasonably small ones in purple wrapping paper, and a black ribbon. They are, she learns once they are opened, all zero keys for their calculators, to replace the ones that got taken by the mysterious ooze a few weeks ago that only seemed to get rid of zero keys. It is difficult to do finances without a zero key. 

Even knowing that everyone has something, it’s still a surprise to see a present resting in the centre of her desk. It isn’t what she’d call unassuming; it’s a rather noticeable blue pattern, and what looks like stars in every conceivable colour  **but** blue. It’s not the largest gift, but it’s also not the smallest among them, larger than her hands, and definitely a box. 

She looks around at the rest of the station who are opening their presents, before she opens her own. One of the other interns got two of the textbooks they needed. The only other show host had a box of tea they liked that they hadn’t been able to buy in months, the Shawns/Seans/Shauns had all already replaced the zero keys on their calculators. 

Looking back down at the box in her hands, she tears the wrapping paper, the box beneath it just plain cardboard. Inside is a simple ceramic mug with the skyline and along the bottom is written ‘Desert Bluffs Community Radio’. It’s just a mug, but it’s her very own DBCR mug, and it’s nice. It is, she thinks, subtle proof that she made the right decision in coming here. That this is her place, and her people. 

After the broadcast, she sees Kevin smiling at her, and he looks pleased.

-

It’s the middle of summer, and Vanessa has been at the station for a year. The station is having a party to celebrate the fact that they survived the quinquennial Night Walkers Brigade, and they’re all exhausted. It's meant three days of non-stop broadcasting, and even Kevin’s tentacles are moving sluggishly over his arms compared to usual. 

It doesn’t stop the elation from the last week, or even Kevin’s hand grabbing hers to pull her towards Daniel and Ted, waving a camera in one hand. “This is your first go through, and it should be commemorated,” he says by way of explanation, and she has to wonder how much coffee he’s consumed over the last week. Most of them had been able to sleep in shifts, slumped over their desks, or curled up on the break room couch, but he hadn't been able to as the Voice, and even if he had, she didn’t think that he had. 

When they cross the yard, she’s shuffled to stand beside him, and smiles at the click of the camera. 

The picture turns out well; one copy gets framed and put up in the break room, and then she takes one home and places it with the growing collection of pictures. 

-

The station is half-abandoned, and she hasn’t left it in three weeks. Their doors are barricaded shut, and the people that are still here have taken to sleeping in shifts in the break room. Right now, they’re taking one of the pre-scheduled breaks, which mostly just means that they are playing out pre-recorded segments. Kevin is slumped against her side, gratefully sipping at the coffee Ted had pressed into his hands as soon as he’d stepped out of the booth. 

They are going to lose, Vanessa thinks, looking around at the other half a dozen people gathered. She knows it, and she's pretty certain that most of the others do as well, even Kevin, she thinks, must realize it, but he doesn’t want to think that Cecil lied to him, and no one else wants to admit defeat. They’re all here because this is their town, and their station. 

It isn’t going to save them, but the continuous broadcast is the only thing they can do to support their city. There have been calls from citizens expressing their gratitude, and they’ve all been played over the air to inspire the fight against Strex. She’s sipping on a lukewarm cup of coffee that’s been in the pot since the last time Kevin came out of the booth. 

Ted is sitting backwards on one of the chairs, and one of the other interns is making another pot of coffee. “We can’t keep doing this,” the intern says yawning. “We’ve lost the protestors at the university.” He adds, and Vanessa feels a pang shoot through her. Those were her friends, the people she’d seen most days before  _ this _ . They’d been some of the most staunch defenders of the city, and knowing even then that it had not saved them hurt. Probably more than it had when everyone still thought they had a chance. 

“Who’s left?” She looks over at the speaker sitting at the table, the last Shawn/Sean/Shaun, which means that he’s only Shawn because there’s no longer anyone else. “Aside from not enough people.” He adds, taking a bit from a peanut butter sandwich.

“Us.” Vanessa says, and looks down at Kevin when he sits up, not nearly so slumped anymore, just tired looking. His eyes have bags beneath them, even the third one, and she didn’t even know it could do that before. He's hardly the only one with dark circles, he just looks like the most haggard of them.

He sighs, and Vanessa reaches out to take his hand, squeezing it slightly to give that bit of support. “Grandma Josephine, my sister, three of the teachers, and a number of citizens who have banded together at the church,” And then he looks pained, and for a second, Vanessa is reminded of the anguished look she’d seen all those years ago on the face of a ghost. It feels like the most damning moment there's been so far.

He’s seen all of it, more than any of the rest of them have, and he’s the only one of them that still holds so desperately to these convictions, maybe more out of desperation now than anything else. Over the speakers, they can hear the broadcast still going, the last of today’s pre-recorded segments starting. Kevin finishes his coffee, and Ted smiles tiredly at him.

There’s not enough of them to run a radio station, not really-- much less as one of the only places left fighting, but they’ve done their best, all of them taking over as many roles as they can, even if they weren't technically supposed to be their jobs. 

“Once more into the fray then?” Ted says, and Kevin nods. 

Vanessa finishes her own coffee and looks up at the other intern. “Our turn to record then.” Vanessa says, raising the empty cup in a toast-- it’s her DBCR one she notices, and for a moment, she feels hopeful, like they really do have a chance.

He laughs, and raises the coffee pot in return. “To the joy of horoscopes.”

-

It feels like a dream when Vanessa wakes up. The station is different, but so is she. They have new management, and a brand new parent company. The lights outside are strange, bright and never ending. She tries to think about what’s led her to this point and she can't seem to remember what happened. Can’t seem to remember much at all, but it’s okay. She’s happy, _so_ _happy,_ ** _so productive_** _._

They’ve redecorated in time for her to come back to work, and Kevin’s there too, and so is Daniel. It’s so nice to be back to work after her break (‘Why…?’ part of her thinks, but she smiles, and it’s fine, such thoughts aren't wanted under the newest order. ‘I am happy.’ she thinks instead, and Lauren smiles at her). 

-

“Vanessa!” Kevin says, with a smile and a press of papers into her hands. “There’s a case in the field if you could try to investigate.” 

“Of course!” She says, with her own smile. It’s her job as the intern, but she can’t seem to focus on that thought long enough to figure out why the singular use bothers her. There’s something she’s  _ missing _ , something important. Something about the stretch of time she can never focus on, and the yellow pills pressed into her hands everyday. At least, in what she thinks is a day. The sun doesn’t set, and everyone works, and works, and works to increase their value. 

-

She’s standing on the sidewalk, just outside the newest corporate building, and the sun shines down but it’s wrong, it’s not the sun, it can’t be the sun because the sun was the warm things that was supposed to light summer parties and not whatever this burning, wretched thing that never set was.

She steps forward, and she leaves a red footprint on the asphalt. She looks down at it distracted, and the death grip she has on the papers falters, fluttering to the ground. The triangular insignias in the corner of each of them soaks through in red, and she blinks as the vertigo hits, and she finds herself trying to stay on her feet. 

She feels like she’d fallen off the edge of the precipice she’s been teetering on. The world flickers in it’s rose-tinted view, and the blood beneath her feet chills her own. Her smile falters and she thinks she can hear something, but the only thing she can hear is the rushing in her ears. 

And then there’s a hand on her arm, “Vanessa,” the voice says, and she looks up at the speaker. She can’t remember his name, or anything other than the fact that they used to go to school together, and that he was good at math. “Are you okay?” he asks, and he seems concerned, but Vanessa has the distinct feeling that she really doesn’t want to be anything but okay; the fact that it feels like her world has tilted on its axis doesn't seem to matter more than the fact that she doesn't want to know what happens if she isn’t fine. 

“Of course!” She says with a smile, even as it feels fake _ fake _ **_fake._ ** “Just a bit dizzy.” She reassures and bends down to pick up the papers, for the first time reading them. There is the name of the man she's supposed to talk to, and another file that she was supposed to deliver at the front desk that says something about re-education or a severance package, and the chill in her blood seems to somehow freeze even her bones. 

“Are you sure?” The other man says, and Vanessa can’t help but notice the way his smile stretches too wide, and his eyes seem perched on the edge of vacant.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’d hate for either of us to be late.” She adds, and he looks appeased. 

He nods, and walks away, and the feeling in her stomach sinks down _down_ **_down_**. 

-

It’s not that night, because there no longer is a night, but the close enough approximation that Vanessa has, when she finds Kevin asleep at his desk, head pillowed on his blazer that he’s bunched up in a ball. She smiles softly, sadfully at him, and drapes one of the blankets the station keeps over him. He doesn’t stir, but nor does he look at peace and something about that is wrong. Even at his most exhausted she can’t remember a time when he’s ever looked quite this lost before. 

In his sleep, his mouth is turned down into a frown, and the row of stitches holding his third eye shut seem more barbaric. There’s nothing she can do but try and make him feel comfortable, at least, that would actually help in the long term.

The  [ weather ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYE5VATV0k4) that night is particularly bitter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Today's weather was: Apocalyptic Dreams by The Adjective  
> Today's proverb is: There are no such things as heroes. We're sorry you've been lied to. 
> 
> Happy holidays!!!


End file.
